Hungarian Rhapsody
by BiteMeTechie
Summary: CAT Nothing in Gotham ever turns out normal. Not even an innocent little thing like a horror film festival.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Blah. I'm tired of doing these. When DC renounces Catwoman: the Movie and issues a public apology, _then_ we'll talk.

CATverse A/N: Blah blah blah, if you want to know where it goes, check the website (too lazy to type the address…check my profile), 'kay?

Regular A/N: This was typed a few weeks ago. My laptop proceeded to eat it (Bad Lappy! Bad!!). I'm just getting around to rewriting it now.

-

Ideally, hearing the words "FILM FESTIVAL!" shouted at the top of someone's lungs was _not_ the way the Scarecrow liked to wake up.

Apparently, as he darted up in bed and heard a crash in another part of the hideout, followed by "CAPTAIN! I **just** went to bed!", he could only gather he wasn't the only one who shared this sentiment.

It was only with a mind toward witnessing the impending bloodbath that he actually found the strength to drag his carcass out of bed. After all, Techie had spent _three_ restless nights pacing around the lair doing this and that for no apparent reason (the mural depicting the death of Superman that now graced one of the common room walls was his personal favorite)--so he could hardly blame her for the homicide she was about to commit for being awakened after _finally_ falling into bed.

Looking as intimidating as any man should at six in the morning, Crane shambled out of bed and as far as his door, which he flung open.

The Captain was flailing her arms at Techie, waving a bright pink handbill around and jabbering at the speed of light. He deciphered a few of the words that filtered through the babble--'Ops', 'Gotham', 'Film' and 'Festival' among them, but nothing further.

In an instant, Crane found himself forcefully reminded of why he was glad Techie was on _his_ side. With all the speed of a cobra-strike, Techie sprang at the Captain and pinned her to the wall by the throat. It was clear that she wasn't _hurting_ the madwoman, merely _holding_ her and the movement had the desired effect--the Captain went silent.

She growled, "If you intend to live to see dawn, the next word out of your mouth better start with 'Bruce' and end with 'Campbell'."

The Captain looked her friend in the eye and spoke, enunciating each syllable of her statement, "U-ni-ver-sal." and then proceeded to wave the pink handbill around for effect.

Techie blinked lethargically but snatched the flyer.

She spent a few moments reading it before she released the Captain and sniffed. "I'll get my coat."

Ordinarily, watching this scene would have been the extent of Crane's involvement. _Ordinarily_, he would have turned around and gone back to bed, disappointed that nobody had lost a limb.

Ordinarily, they wouldn't have asked if he wanted to come…

Obviously, this occasion wasn't ordinary, because they did just that.

His first reaction was an emphatic, ringing, "No."

Then the Captain said that Al _wouldn't_ want to come (therefore giving him the choice of being at home with his least favorite of the bunch or being elsewhere)…

Then Techie had to insist that people who went to horror film festivals were bound to be 'interesting' fear toxin test subjects--since they sought out and embraced fear rather than running from it…

_Then_ he evidently suffered some sort of momentary lapse of sanity…and agreed to go.


	2. Chapter 2

Gotham Plaza was always crowded at any given time, but when Crane found himself there during a film festival, he finally understood the true meaning of the words 'packed in like sardines in a can'. There were lines and _lines_ of people--some in costume, some not--waiting at the various make-shift theatres (in _tents_, no less!) and all of them bouncing around and being generally excited in a manner that he thought was only possible for his henchgirls.

Certainly, there were several people who remained composed, but for the most part, they were excited, happy, chattering and on the whole, utterly detestable companions.

His minions, strangely enough, were the least irritating people in sight. They were too busy strategically figuring out which movies would be filled to capacity first and which ones could probably wait. It was a short but intense debate between the two, full of whispers and glares and then finally, they both looked at him.

"Which one do _you_ want to see? Everyone's got a favorite."

Crane snorted, shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets nonchalantly. "I never bothered with such trivial things."

They stared at him, doing rather accurate impressions of a pair of carp, and then looked back at each other, nodding, some form of silent communication that he couldn't understand taking place.

They proceeded to each take one of his arms and drag him behind them towards one of the large blood red tents that littered the square, chattering about 'the definitive Universal' and 'the _ultimate_ villain!' and he couldn't help but find himself intrigued…

At least, until they reached the tent and ducked inside to find…a life sized cardboard Dracula staring down at them.

"You must be joking," he said, one eyebrow lifting as he cast his gaze down at the girls…

Who were both looking at the cardboard standee like it was the most incredibly profound piece of art they'd ever laid eyes on.

"But it's Lugosi!" The Captain exclaimed.

He looked at her in boredom. "What do I care about Bela Lugosi?"

Techie glared at him, moved to smack him on the arm and then thought better of it. "Bey-la, Squishy, it's pronounced _Bey-la_."

"It matters?"

Techie growled and the Captain scolded her. "Stop that, he doesn't know any better."

"Somehow I get the feeling before the day is out I _will_," Crane muttered, allowing the two women to usher him towards the group of folding chairs that had been set up.

"Aw man! The place is packed!" Techie pouted. "There aren't three seats grouped together!"

Crane concealed a smile. Things were looking up…

The Captain pointed. "There's two…and I see one over there. You take Jonathan, I'll fly solo."

"What?" Crane was snapped out of his fantasies of sneaking out of the sure-to-be-dull-as-dirt movie in hopes of seeking out some decent lab rats and looked at the Captain. "Why don't _I_ just take the single seat?"

"No," the Captain said firmly. "You need somebody to make sure you get every possible ounce of goodness out of this…besides," she giggled in a slightly unhinged fashion, "the guy I'll be sitting next to is kinda cute."

And before Techie _or_ Crane had the chance to argue, the Captain was gone, scampering through the aisle and snagging her seat.

With a shrug, Techie tugged Crane along behind her and shoved him into his own seat, flopping down next to him as the opening credits started to roll.

Thirty minutes in, Crane was actually starting to understand why the film had garnered such a following (it did have its classic moments of fear in a very film-noir sort of way), but his blossoming decent mood was ruined when Techie's head flopped over onto his shoulder, her mouth open and her eyes shut, sleeping contentedly away.

Apparently, despite her initial excitement, the sleep deprivation had decided it wanted to catch up with her and he was the most comfortable pillow-like surface nearby. It wasn't _too_ terribly annoying--especially considering the movie was almost over anyways--but he couldn't very well let her get away with it.

Of course…he'd been awakened far too early too…and the chair he was in was far more comfortable than its design suggested…and his eyes _were_ getting heavy…

And her hair was kinda comfy…

And that was as far as his reasoning got before he too started to doze.


	3. Chapter 3

Jonathan Crane awoke with a nasty crick in his neck in the darkened makeshift theatre with a pimply teenaged usher staring down at him disapprovingly. His mind was cloudy for a few seconds as he tried to piece together why _exactly_ his head was lying on something with the texture of a brill-o pad before it all came rushing back to him.

"Sir, the movie is over. You're going to have to neck with your girlfriend elsewhere."

Crane's eyes flew open in indignation and he _glared_ at the boy who dared speak to him in such a manner.

He might have been a bit more intimidating if he'd actually possessed the ability to move his head out of its terribly uncomfortable position, but it seemed as though he'd pinched a nerve and was unable to _stop_ using Techie's head for support.

Well, he could extract his arm from around her shoulders, at any rate (how had _that_ happened?) and continued to glare at the whelp. "I can assure you, _boy_, we were not _necking_."

"Regardless, sir, the film is over, everyone else is gone, you'll have to vacate the theatr--"

He stood abruptly and towered over the youth, the effect only _slightly_ ruined by his neck's strange pose and the usher took an involuntary step back.

"If I want to continue inhabiting this fleabag _tent_ until dawn, I will do so."

The teenager drew himself up to his full height (roughly eight inches _shorter_ than Crane) and spoke as levelly as possible. "Sir, don't make me call security."

"Please do," he replied pleasantly, grimacing as he _forced_ his neck to straighten out with an angry 'POP!'.

"I _will_, sir," the boy threatened, but Crane could _see_ he was getting anxious.

A sleepy yawn sounded from behind him and Techie made that half-purr, half-growl noise she did whenever she stretched out. "Want me to break his knees? I didn't bring my pipe with me, but I'm sure I can improvise." She smacked her jaw a few times and rubbed her face, coming back to the world of consciousness fully.

"That won't be necessary," he replied easily, whipping out his mask and slipping it on in one smooth motion.

For all of the three seconds it took for Crane to give the usher a faceful of fear toxin, his expression went from slightly defiant to that of recognition and then finally, his features crumpled and he wilted.

Crane paid no attention to the CRASH that echoed behind him as chairs started toppling like dominos and just started for the tent's exit. He cast a single backwards glance and found that Techie had been alert enough to scramble away from the cloud of fear toxin, one of her sleeves held over her nose and mouth to avoid exposure, thus revealing herself to be the cause of the chairs collapsing on one another.

He left the 'theatre', removing his mask as he went and wasn't surprised in the least when, a few moments later, Techie caught up with him and grabbed him by the sleeve, yanking sharply. The sound of the metal chairs still hitting one another and crashing to the ground behind them forced her to shout in his face.

(Though he suspected she might've done that _without_ the background noise.)

"What the hell was THAT?" she screeched angrily.

He looked at her innocently. "Is there a problem?"

"You could've given me a little warning!"

"_About_?"

"The fact that you were going to go toxin happy! I could've been hit!"

"And?"

She swatted him on the arm. "Jonathan!"

He sighed melodramatically. "It's not as if I wouldn't have given you the antidote…_eventually_."

There was a spectacular BOOM that cut off whatever reply Techie had been preparing and they both turned in time to see the tent they'd just been in collapse.

She glared at him. "You see what you made me do?!"

"Yes…you brought down the house. Brava." He brought his hands up and mockingly applauded her.

She swatted his arm again. "I don't suppose it matters to you that the Captain might've still been in there, does it?!"

"Strike me once more, woman," he said warningly, not needing to finish the threat.

She looked apologetic, but still distressed. "But the CAPTAIN!"

Crane released a long suffering sigh. "The usher said the theatre was empty with the exception of the two of us. She obviously already left."

"Captain wouldn't abandon us," Techie said with conviction. "Where could she _be_?"

As if he _cared_?

"Follow the nearest senseless path of destruction and I'm sure you'll come across her sooner or later." He smirked and gestured at the fallen tent. "That is, the nearest senseless path of destruction that _you_ aren't responsible for."

A blood curdling scream rent the air, startling both of them and a WHOOSH of hot air hit them in the face as a pillar of flame shot up in the distance.

"I stand corrected. We follow the nearest path of flamey death."


	4. Chapter 4

Unbeknownest to a great multitude of the population, flame knife dancing was one of the Captain's lesser known skills. She had taken it up on a trip to Hawaii and--though a _bit_ rusty--she still remembered enough of her 'novelty' classes to be relatively impressive with a flaming steak knife.

At least, as far as being impressive enough to throw the knives at passers-by...which was not strictly 'dancing', per se, but had you asked her, she would've credited the classes as being the reason why she could do what she did.

Under ordinary circumstances, 'following the nearest path of flamey death' was a good way to find the Captain, but in this case the flamey death wasn't _all_ her doing--flaming knives not withstanding. In fact, she was doing her utmost to _avoid_ flamey death...though her methodology in doing so was far from sound. After all, 'fight fire with fire' rarely worked as well as 'fight fire with water'.

After the movie had ended, Captain and the young man she'd been sitting next to during Dracula struck up a conversation. The going was somewhat rough at first, his terribly thick accent--Hungarian in origin--was hard to make sense of, but they were both avid horror movie fans and, accent or not, Captain heard 'Dario Argento' and an instant later, Cupid drew back his bow and let fly.

Ambros Almos was, in Captain's opinion, one of the prettiest men she'd ever laid eyes on. He was that sort of unfair pretty that no male of the species had any right to be. The unfair pretty that made _women_ jealous. He was tall, at _least_ a good six foot four, and had the darkest eyes she'd ever seen outside of her chief of operations' face. In fact, she was starting to think Techie's eyes were _light_ in comparison to Ambros'. If she had to describe his features, she probably would've said 'chisled', but they were still slightly soft--almost feminine--and, upon further reflection, that description fit the rest of him as well. He was slim, defined, but not overtly so. Strong, but still somehow delicate. She couldn't really find a proper adjective to fit him when she put her mind to it.

But whatever he was, she _reeeeally_ liked it.

So, when he asked if she'd like to be his escort around the festival, she was hard pressed to find a reason _not_ to be and, when he offered his arm, she took it. She was confident that Techie and Jonathan could take care of themselves.

Things progressed without incident right up until Ambros had suggested they grab a bite. The festival had rented booths to many different eating establishments around Gotham, and there were tables for two set up all over the place, so that the festival goers could dine alfresco. The more upscale places actually provided wait staff and busboys around the tiny makeshift courtyard. The two companions got a sampling from a few different booths and snagged a table, still chatting amiably. Ambros had pulled out the Captain's chair--which she took after blushing slightly--and then, just as they had picked up their sporks in the interests of digging into their sundaes, all hell broke loose.

At first, she'd been happy to see Firefly. Garfield was a nice enough guy and he hadn't set anyone she loved on fire recently; but then the happiness wore off as she saw him set fire to one of the tents and she realized: extreme heat, irreplaceable 35mm film reels, _bad_.

The Captain shouted at him to stop but the entire festival had erupted in total pandemonium and she couldn't be heard over the racket. She did the first thing that came to mind, which was to pick up the nearest heavy object and hurl it at his head. She missed, of course, but it got Firefly's attention and that was enough. He turned, his head tilted at her curiously when recognition set in and she took his moment of surprise to hurl a smoldering chair at him.

"Smeghead!" she shouted over the din as the chair shattered against him. "Don't you know celluloid is a precious commodity?!"

The Captain had forgotten the cardinal rule when it came to dealing with supervillains-whether you know them personally or not: tossing things at the man with a flamethrower is never a good idea. Ambros had to grab the Captain around the waist and pull her out of harm's way. He upended the table and they crouched behind it as a wave of heat exploded around them.

"Are you insane?!"

"Probably," she replied honestly, ducking out from behind the table. A serving cart had been tipped over and forgotten and she dove for it, narrowly missing a tiny smoldering bonfire that had once been a fondu pot. The serving cart had been made up of two sections: the top, which was for holding whatever was being served, and underneath, hidden by cloth, a dishpan full of dining utensils. The steak knives scattered all over the ground were gathered up post haste and she started flinging them at Firefly with as much accuracy as she could. The first four or five flew sideways, posing no threat of bodily injury whatsoever, but once she hit a groove, they sliced through the air with frightening precision. She winged him a few times before Ambros once more wrestled her out of harm's way.

"Hey!" she squeaked as she was thrown to the ground, flat on her back (ow!) and Ambros covered her body protectively with his. She struggled against him for a few seconds before she got distracted by just how muscular his arms were.

Well, that and the _huge_ blast that caused the earth itself to shudder. In a flash of heat, her skin felt drier than it had ever been before and the air grew thin, making it hard to breathe. She clung to Ambros as she gasped for air like a fish out of water and ash rained down from nowhere and everywhere. The Captain couldn't verbalize the fact that his crushing her ribcage was hardly helping her catch her breath, but it didn't matter. She grew lightheaded and was only vaguely aware of the scuffling noises coming from Firefly's general direction. Focusing on regulating her breathing as best she could, everything outside herself didn't matter and she remained pretty oblivious to the villain being tossed across the courtyard by persons unknown and landing just a few feet to her left.

Firefly was knocked unconscious and with the threat gone, Ambros rose, clutching the Captain to him as he went. She would've fought him, but the gravelly voice of Batman made her bury her face in his shirt as much as she could without smothering. Just because she was hovering dangerously near an asthma attack didn't mean she'd taken leave of _all_ her senses, after all. Batman would recognize her in a heartbeat and then…well, she wasn't much in the mood for Arkham today.

However, the vigilante was too concerned with rounding up Firefly to pay the civilians any attention and once he'd dragged his prey away, the Captain tried to extract herself from Ambros' embrace. She pressed against his chest, but he didn't let go and she looked up at him, glaring fiercely.

She stopped struggling immediately, losing herself in his eyes. For the longest time, she couldn't remember why she was upset with him. What was there to be upset over? He was just holding her…and that was actually, very, very nice. She felt her spine straightening, her breath caught in her throat and her body being lifted up on her tiptoes. She was inexplicably drawn towards the man with his arms so securely wrapped around her middle and she strained towards his lips. Boy, he smelled good…

"CAPTAIN!"

Ambros instantly released her and the Captain felt like she'd lost something, but she couldn't name what it was. Her mind felt a little bit addled. She realized it probably had something to do with all the oxygen deprivation. She _had_ been holding her breath just now and had just narrowly escaped the clutches of an asthma attack.

Techie slid into place between Captain and Ambros and her brain cleared of some of its fogginess with the forced separation. "What _happened_? Are you okay?"

"Firefly and I'm fine. Where's Jonathan?"

The other woman looked skeptical and she poked her friend's shoulder. "You sure? You don't _seem_ fine."

The Captain fixed Techie with a glare. "_Yes_, I'm sure. Why don't you ever believe me?"

"Because you're usually lying." Techie didn't even bother to turn to look at Ambros, just jerked her thumb in his direction. "Who's the stiff?"

"Where's Jonathan?" Captain repeated, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"We split up to look for you. He'll be around." Techie turned to face Ambros fully. "Now, who's _this_ gu--"

She froze and looked up at him. "Good gravy, are you ever _tall_."

The Hungarian smiled at Techie and Captain felt a surge of irrational jealousy. It intensified when he took a step backward, bowed with a flourish.

"Ambros Almos, madam." He took Techie's hand delicately and brought it to his lips in a lingering caress.

_He didn't kiss __**my**__ hand,_ Captain thought irritably only to blink suddenly and realize a moment later that the envious train of thought was completely foreign. Since when did she care about that sort of thing?

Techie just stared at him dumbly for a moment until he stood up straight once more. "Your accent is lovely. Are you from Russia?"

He smiled again and another stab of resentment made itself known inside the Captain. She knew it didn't belong there but it was present just the same. His smile was lazy, almost tranquil--as if he knew just how easily it would win over the other woman--and his eyes were only half open.

_**Bedroom**__ eyes_.

The Captain had never wanted to shove another person away from a love interest before, but she felt like pushing Techie right off a cliff at that precise moment if it would mean Ambros would stop looking at her like that.

"Hungary," he replied in that luscious accent of his. He leaned toward Techie and she swayed toward him as if drawn by a string attached to her sternum. "Have you ever been to Europe?"

She gulped audibly. "Nuh uh."

"Every young woman should see Europe. Paris in the spring, Prague in winter…"

"And when should I see Hungary?"

"As soon as possible, _mei pre__ţ__ios toana__."_

"_There_ you are!"

Just like that, the thread between Techie and Ambros snapped and she stood up ramrod straight once more. Jonathan arrived on the scene and stopped in his tracks when his eyes landed on the taller gentleman. He regarded the mysterious Hungarian with great suspicion but Techie stepped away from him and situated herself at Jonathan's side.

"Ambros, Jonathan," the Captain said, relieved at the distance now between the object of her sudden obsession and the competition. "Jonathan, Ambros."

The two men nodded at each other briefly, but said nothing.

"He's from Hungary," Techie said conversationally as she looped her arm through Jonathan's. He tried to flinch away, but she held him fast. "Come on, Jonathan. I'm sure these two want to get back to whatever it was they were doing."

"We were having dinner before the rogue interrupted us…I should hope," he looked at the Captain, "that we may go elsewhere to pick up where we left off?"

"Of course we can," Captain replied happily, almost _adoringly_.

"You are welcome to join us," Ambros said charmingly, turning back to Techie and Jonathan. "I am certain the company would be most welcome."

A vein in the Captain's forehead throbbed menacingly. Jonathan cleared his throat and gracefully declined. "No, that's okay. You two go ahead. We have other things to attend to."

Ambros inclined his head in a slight bow and then took the Captain's arm. "Then it will be just you and I, _savuros nimic_."

The recipient of his attentions looked positively giddy as he led her away.

The moment they were gone, Jonathan jerked out of Techie's grasp and straightened his sleeve.

"That _accent_," he said with distaste, staring after the two lovebirds, "you _do_ know it's bogus?"

"Oooh yeah…in more ways than you think," she replied anxiously, starting off in the other direction. "She's in _way_ over her head."

Jonathan followed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "She can handle a sloppy pretty-boy conman with one hand tied behind her back. She'll be fine."

Techie shook her head. "He's no conman. He just called Captain 'tasty morsel' in _Romanian._"

--

Academic note: the Hungarian language is very similar to Romanian (indeed, often using some of the same words, like 'mei' for 'my') but there are enough fundamental differences in the words themselves and way they're pronounced that if you have even a rudimentary knowledge of either, you can tell which is which. The words used in this chapter translate, very roughly as 'my dear pet' (_mei pre__ţ__ios toana) _and 'savory morsel' (_savuros nimic)._

Thus concludes your language lesson for the day.


	5. Chapter 5

Al sat on the latest thrift store common room addition--a big cushy chair that had been abandoned at the side of the road whose only crime was being the ugliest shade of yellow-green on the face of the planet--with her feet propped up on the milk crate that was currently serving as a coffee table. She sat placidly smiling at the television as screams of terror filled the lair--some from the TV, some from the lab--dropping her hand into a bag of cheddar cheese potato chips every few minutes. Kitten was napping peacefully in her playpen, blissfully unaware of anything that wasn't her Eeyore blankie and bottle. The kid had already learned to tune out the sound of screams; the sign of a regular dyed in the wool Gothamite.

Al hadn't been surprised to find a note on the kitchen table that morning with varying levels of legible penmanship. The first line read in the Captain's hand 'Gone out for a walk, be back by midnight'; 'a walk' and 'midnight' had been crossed out and replaced with 'waffles' and 'three' in Techie's spiky, messy scrawl; those too were scribbled over and replaced with 'swim' and 'dawn' and even further down the page, those were replaced with 'film festival' and 'later'. It wasn't the first time she'd found such a note; they'd been wandering off on their own late at night for years now. She was used to it.

The door slamming open didn't faze her and neither did the flurry of activity that stumbled into the lair. Techie, her mass of frizzy hair somehow precariously held up in a bun by a single yellow pencil, stomped in, scribbling furiously on a notepad. Jonathan followed after her, scowling at the back of her head, his hands stuck deep in his pockets.

"We're going to need garlic--"

Al grabbed another chip and popped it into her mouth, chewing contentedly. "Hi guys."

"And...ugh...crosses, I hate that part." Techie didn't even look up from the small notepad she had in hand as she spoke. "Hi, Al."

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Vampire hunting," Techie replied without pause. Al ate another potato chip. "Silver...that sounds so _cliche_. I don't suppose we have any holy water lying around?"

"You're insane," Jonathan answered, finally turning Techie's monologue a conversation. "I _have_ mentioned that before, correct?"

"Repeatedly!" Al piped up, taking a swig from her bottle of water.

"Yeah, yeah. Like I said, holy water?"

"The closest I have at my disposal is sulfuric acid."

The sarcastic intent of his statement flew right over her head. "Hey, work with what you've got. Al, can I borrow the boomstick?"

Al lifted one arm and pointed toward her room. "Shells are in the kitchen. Rock salt's in the bathroom."

Jonathan stood up a little straighter. "Rock salt?"

"All things that go bump in the night dislike salt," Techie replied in a matter-of-fact tone and disappeared through the bathroom door.

"You really _have_ lost your mind!" He turned to Al for support--something he never thought he'd do. "Tell her she's lost her mind."

Al still didn't look away from the television screen. "Eh, there wasn't much to lose in the first place."

He looked at the couch bound henchgirl with genuine surprise. "How can you just take this in stride?"

She shrugged. "You weren't around when she made us go hunting for the Beast of Bray Road. This sort of thing is old hat."

He folded his arms over his chest and gave her a skeptical look. "Cryptozoology is one thing--at least it has _some_ basis in fact and an iota of scientific merit--but _vampire hunting_?"

Al turned slowly and looked him in the eye, dead serious. "Old. Hat." She took another slug of water from her bottle and smiled at him in an unsettling way. "And I'll be sure to remind you what you said about the scientific merit of cryptozoology next time she wants to go find El Chupacabra."

Techie emerged from the bathroom with a sack slung over her shoulder, roughly the size of a five pound bag of potatoes. Laying on her other shoulder was Al's double barreled shotgun. "Got the salt. Ain't no vampire alive--"

"Undead," Al corrected, turning back to the TV.

"Ain't no vampire undead gonna be able to take this much salt without shriveling like a raisin in the sun." She shifted the sack and jerked her head at Crane. "C'mon, Squishykins, we've got a commanding officer to save."

"If you think I'm going to cater to your sick delusions by accompanying you, you've completely taken leave of your senses."

"But Captain is on a dinner date with a _vampire!_ And you can guess what he has in mind for dessert!"

"Oh for the love of…vampires are a mathematical impossibility!" he exclaimed, utterly exasperated.

"Oh, like I trust _math_."

"Trust logic, then. If a vampire were to exist, vampirism would spread like a contagious disease. Within _two years_, the whole planet's population would be sucking blood to survive! It's _impossible_!"

"So are a lot of things," Techie answered easily. "Doesn't stop 'em from happening. Big Blue should be impossible and _he's_ pretty damn real."

He had no comeback for that because she was gallingly _right_. "You're insane. Furthermore, you're on your own."

For a split second, she looked hurt, but turned her attention to the other woman. "Al?"

"You know my standing policy on all things supernatural," Al replied. "I don't do the whole Egon Spengler thing. It always ends badly. I wish _you_ the best of luck, though."

"But I don't want to go alone," Techie said, her voice turning into a whine. "Come on."

"Not doing it, Van Helsing."

Since Al was a lost cause, Techie turned back to her boss and gave him _The Eyes_. "Squishums, please?"

"Absolutely not. Vampires do not exist. This is a waste of time."

"If I'm wrong--"

"I love the fact that you put 'if' in there, as though there's a possibility you're _not_."

She glared at him. "If I'm wrong, you get to see me toss salt at an unsuspecting innocent bystander and make a complete fool of myself."

"I get to see you make a complete fool of yourself daily _anyway_. That's not incentive."

"If I'm wrong, I'll bake cookies."

"You'll eventually bake cookies. You always do. Try again." He was enjoying the way her ears were turning pink with her rapidly rising ire.

"If I'm _right_--"

"But you're **not** right."

"But there's a possibility that I _am_," she said calmly. "Ra's Al Ghul is immortal; Wonder Woman is an honest to God Amazon; there's that one guy with the four steel arms welded to his spine. With all that, and everything _else_ that's in the papers every day, is a vampire _really_ so far fetched?"

"I never said far fetched, I said _impossible_."

"You are infuriating!" She huffed. "Look, if I'm right, you get to experiment on something that no one else ever has before. If I'm wrong, no harm, no foul. You can go back to your lab, muttering about my stupidity all you want. You've got nothing to lose and a whole lot to gain as far as scientific knowledge goes."

Against his better judgment, he considered for a moment. She saw his hesitation and moved in for the kill.

"Come on, Jonathan. You know you can't turn down the opportunity to play with a toy nobody's even taken out of the box yet."

He looked at her through narrowed eyes and then sighed, holding out his hand. Her face broke into a grin and she handed over the sack of salt. "I expect a dozen snickerdoodles for this."

"Done and done." She adjusted the angle of the shotgun on her other shoulder. "C'mon, Van Hellsing. Let's go bag us an overgrown mosquito."


	6. Chapter 6

"Stealthy" wasn't a word one could use to describe Techie and she knew it. In her early twenties, her joints had started to prematurely creak. Now, in her mid-thirties, she was a walking bowl of Rice Crispies, giving off a snap, crackle or pop with almost every move. Other than the occasional muttered acknowledgement that accompanied a particularly abrupt popping sound--usually along the lines of "Damn it, must be gettin' old"--she ignored it, but it was clear to Jonathan, as he snuck along behind her, that her days of unencumbered, _independent_ movement were most definitely numbered. As she dropped into a wobbly crouch in front of him, a duffle bag full of various tools and superstitious nonsense slung over one shoulder, her kneecap angrily snapped. He frowned. Ten years ago, that crouch would have been only a _little_ unsteady; what would it look like ten years from now?

The thought of her with a cane bothered him a little but more than it probably should have.

He shook it off and dropped down next to her as she relieved herself of her duffle and started rifling around inside it. Jonathan took this opportunity to examine their surroundings.

Techie had managed to pinpoint the Captain's location through deductive reasoning and more than a little bit of luck. With it being a cultural melting pot, there were many exotic restaurants in Gotham City, but only three places served Hungarian cuisine. The henchgirl had dismissed the first two because they were in the heart of the city--the tourist heart--and there would be far too many people lurking about for a vampire to get away with anything, even in an alley. The third lay on the outskirts of Gotham's most upscale neighborhood, straddling the line between the richest and poorest districts quite well. Between crime alley and Fifth Avenue were several blocks of gray area, neither affluent, nor truly destitute, and _The Hole in the Wall_--which was the name of the restaurant--was smack dab in the middle of it. It was nice enough that some of Gotham's upper middle class might occasionally drop by, but there was still a significant chance of getting stabbed behind the building, so the city's _real_ elite would _never_ set foot there.

Techie and Jonathan were situated across the street from the restaurant, crouched behind some box hedges that lined the front walk in front of _Erica's Exotic Imports_. The emporium had gone out of business long ago, the place having been set ablaze by 'persons unknown' (and by 'persons unknown' what the police really meant was 'the Penguin, we just can't prove it yet') and still sat empty and gutted. The box hedges had survived the fire, for the most part, and gave just enough cover that they couldn't be seen from the other side of the street.

Jonathan peered through the greenery, scanning the front of the restaurant._ The Hole in the Wall_ was housed inside a modest brick building, the face of which was lined with sumptuously decorated picture windows. The table where the Captain and her dinner companion were seated happened to be dead center, looking out on the street: perfectly positioned for spying.

"October twenty-seventh." Jonathan glanced over at Techie. She was muttering into the Captains dilapidated, near obsolete digital sound recorder. "Subject is one 'Ambros Almos'--note to self, investigate family name. Subject possesses typical vampire characteristics. Devastatingly handsome, pale skin, magnetic personality, speaks Romanian with the flawless accent of a native."

Jonathan pursed his lips. "As if you would know what a native speaker sounds like."

She didn't stop recording, but narrowed her eyes at him slightly. "Subject is also charismatic. Hypnotic or psionic ability suspected, but unverified."

"Subject can also stand in broad daylight without bursting into flames," he mocked.

An angry glare was his reward. Techie turned off the recorder. "Do I bother you when you're working?"

"Constantly."

She pursed her lips and continued to glare at him as fiercely as she could. "Could you just be serious, Jonathan? _Please_? It's for science!"

"Some perverted _fictional_ brand of science."

"Would you like to go home?" Her tone was that of a mother threatening to leave her misbehaving child behind at the grocery store.

He gave her a nasty sneer. "I thought you didn't want to go up against Count Dracula all by yourself?"

She looked perturbed at his reminder that she needed him but didn't respond. She turned back to watch the building across the street through the shrubbery, flipping the recorder back on as she went. "Unknown what species subject is, but it is assumed that the Stoker-esque mythology applies."

Jonathan looked at her disbelievingly. "You are completely out of touch with reality."

"If reality wants to get in touch, it knows where I am. I..." Techie trailed off and leaned forward through the brush. "They're leaving the restaurant."

Despite himself, Jonathan turned his attention to the restaurant across the street. The Captain and her escort were leaving the establishment, the Captain's arm looped through Ambros' and her head resting comfortably on his shoulder. Jonathan's nose wrinkled with distaste. They looked like lovesick teenagers. Disgusting.

Techie's eyes narrowed to slits behind her glasses. "They look _awfully_ chummy."

"That a technical term?" he asked dispassionately. "'Chummy'?"

"They're going down an alley."

Without warning, she tried to leap to her feet. Jonathan stopped her, grabbing one of her wrists. He almost threw her off balance in the process. She looked down at him.

"Squish, she's in an _alley. _An alley in _Gotham_," she said. "Vampire or not, she's in trouble."

He scoffed, unimpressed. "It's _just_ an alley."

She pursed her lips and gave him a steely look. "And just how many have _you_ walked away from unscathed?"

On considering this, he released her. "Point taken."

---

The Captain released a contented sigh as she strolled with Ambros. What wasn't there to be contented about? He was a handsome devil, more charming than all the conmen in the east end combined and he was a delightful conversationalist besides.

A real shame about the whole being a vampire thing…

Yes, believe it or not, without any help from Techie whatsoever, the Captain was bright enough to figure out that her beau was one of the living dead. Oh, sure, to begin with, she'd been just as mesmerized by him as she appeared to be, but as the day wore on, his hold on her slipped a little and some of her sense came back. He was wonderful, but he was _too_ wonderful. He was too everything, really: too charming, too attentive, too polite, too pretty and above all else, too _perfect_. He was positively _flawless_. When she studied his face and didn't find a single scar, wrinkle or blemish, she started to get annoyed.

Once she made up her mind to be irritated, she started noticing other things. Over dinner, he requested that his goulash be made without any garlic. When she spilled the salt, he didn't throw any over his shoulder--but he _did_ pick up every single granule, counting them under his breath. She supposed that these things could be easily dismissed. Explaining them away was simple enough. He could just be a man who took good care of his skin, didn't care for garlic and suffered from obsessive compulsive disorder.

She could have accepted that he was a perfectly normal human with perfectly ordinary neuroses save for his obsession with her neck. All through dinner, she caught him covertly looking her throat. It was not a casual glance; it was a visual caress. It was the look of a connoisseur faced with a bottle of the rarest, most expensive wine in entire world.

He broke the silence with his deep baritone. "Did you enjoy dinner?"

The Captain looked up at the man on her arm and the world tilted when their eyes met. For a second, nothing mattered outside of him. She couldn't for the life of her remember what she'd been thinking about just a moment earlier but she was pretty sure it wasn't important. The seconds stretched until she snapped out of it. She immediately pulled her attention back to the alleyway before them, trying to walk without swaying.

"Yes," she said pleasantly, pretending that her kneecaps weren't made of jelly. "Thank you, Ambros."

Without warning, Ambros put an arm around her waist and spun her until her back was to a wall. She flailed a fist in his general direction instinctively. He caught it artfully and twisted her wrist just enough to cause a twinge of pain without doing any damage. With his free hand, he caught her chin and turned her face up to his. This assault ballet took a mere matter of seconds, but it felt like much longer.

The Captain had never understood how the heroines in romance novels could so easily get lost in the limpid pools of the hero's eyes, but confronted with Ambros', she finally got it. Like an animal caught in a trap or a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, she couldn't get away. Her will was still her own, to some extent, but her thinking processes were pretty muddled. His grip on her wrist loosened and he finally let her go, bracing his hand on the wall behind her. He loomed large in her field of vision, bigger than anything, twice as threatening as Lugosi and more sensual than Lee.

"Fear me. Worship me. " His voice was thick and reminiscent of Vincent Price at his creepiest when he leaned towards her and rumbled, "I am Nosfaratu."

She blinked. "You're Italian?"

When she realized, through the haze of hypnosis, what she'd said, the Captain burst out laughing. The vampire's spell broken, she waved a hand at him. "Okay, okay, I'll be serious now."

He suddenly lunged at her, fangs bared, only to come to an abrupt halt when he realized she had the sharpened tip of a stake centered over his heart. "None of that!"

Ambros peered at her curiously. "_Where_ were you hiding that?"

"Sleeve." Her tone suggested there was an unspoken _duh, stupid_ tacked on the end of that sentence. "Now, before we go any further, let's get one thing straight: you want to eat me, right?"

He lifted one practiced eyebrow. "Eat you?"

"You want to eat me," she repeated, "not turn me?"

He laughed heartily and she felt the stake quiver under her hand. "_Turn_ you? _Mei_ _savuros nimic_ certainly thinks very highly of herself."

"I'll take that as a no." The Captain's lips pressed together into a thin line.

He tried to catch her eye again but she staunchly refused to look at anything above his nostrils. "I have no need for another bride."

"That's all I needed to know."

Without hesitation and without remorse, she plunged the stake into his chest. He made a noise like a balloon with a pinhole in it, the air slowly escaping, and his body went rigid. The texture of his perfect skin changed to that of white marble. Everything was silent for a moment and then, he shattered into a million pieces, flying apart like a glass vase with a stick of dynamite inside.

It was at this precise moment that a furious shout of "Reach for the sky, suckhead!" came from the mouth of the alley.

Pushing off from the wall and brushing bits of powdered vampire off herself, the Captain straightened up and looked down the alley. Framed by the buildings on either side stood Techie, looking like she belonged in a bad seventies movie. She held her shotgun at eye level, the butt braced against her shoulder. Around her neck hung a gleaming silver cross and a clove of garlic and slung over her back was her duffle bag. Jonathan stood next to her with a shaker of salt and…a water gun.

When she realized that Captain was alone in the alley, Techie let the gun droop. "Where'd he go?"

The Captain raised the stake and waved it. "Taken care of, Ops."

Techie dropped her arms and held the shotgun loosely at her side. "You're carrying a _stake_?"

"I also have a pistol with silver rounds and a lighter on me." She said it as though they were the most natural things in the world to be carrying.

Jonathan tossed his 'weapons' aside entirely, feeling foolish for having taken them up at all. "What, in case Lon Cheney and Boris Karloff rise from the dead and stop over for tea?"

"Lon Cheney _Junior_ was the Wolf Man," the Captain corrected primly. "And there's a horror film festival on in _Gotham_. You can't be too careful."

Techie stared dumbly at her friend, not paying any attention to the conversation she was conducting with Jonathan. "He was a vampire!"

Jonathan looked at her: wasn't that what she'd been trying to convince him of all day? Why did she sound so _surprised_?

"Well, _yeah_," the Captain said with a roll of her eyes.

"But…you dusted him!" If she hadn't been holding a high caliber weapon, she would have pinwheeled her arms. "_You_! You've been waiting for a vampire to bite you since you were like, five years old!"

The Captain shrugged. "He wasn't going to turn me."

"Oh," Techie said flatly. "That makes sense, then."

Jonathan cleared his throat. "Are we _quite_ through with this insanity?"

Techie gaped at him. "She just staked an honest to goodness vampire--for God's sake, she's _standing_ in pulverized Prince of Darkness--and you're _still_ calling it insanity?"

"Racing to her rescue _was_ insanity, whether the threat was real or not," he replied. "I _told_ you she could handle it herself."

The Captain's face lit up instantly. "You did? Squishy, you have faith in me?"

He glowered at Techie. She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Don't look at me. You walked right into that one."


End file.
